


Visions, Ilusions, and Nothing (Everything) to Hide

by donutsweeper



Category: NCIS
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Loss of Trust, Post-Episode: s08e05 Dead Air, Trust Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-20
Updated: 2019-05-20
Packaged: 2020-02-29 14:48:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,782
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18780439
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/donutsweeper/pseuds/donutsweeper
Summary: Tony could really use some backup right about now....





	Visions, Ilusions, and Nothing (Everything) to Hide

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kangeiko](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kangeiko/gifts).



"Still being followed," Tony muttered into the mike. A quick look in the side mirror of a parked car showed that the tallest of the three men was reaching to adjust something under his coat… and that was a Beretta M12 submachine gun. Shit. "They definitely made me. I'm calling it. This op's over and I need out of here now." Sure, he was armed too, but all he had was his SIG-Sauer P228 and a knife and if one of these chuckleheads was carrying a weapon like that then dollars to donuts they all were. 

"Going to try to lose them." Giving up all attempts at appearing nonchalant and unaware of the tail he quickly darted across the street against the light, ignoring the honking he got as a result. 

Cover, cover, he needed to find some cover or a place to hide or something. Unfortunately, this section of Dover was pretty open. While there was a sidewalk, there wasn't a lot of foot traffic and there was only parking lots or industrial buildings behind high fences as far as the eye could see. If he couldn't find anywhere to lose these guys then he seriously needed his damn backup to show up and, you know, provide some damn backup before he found out what kind of firepower the other two assholes were carrying and how willing they were to use it. "Headed north on"—he quickly looked around for a street sign—"South West Street now." Because that wasn't confusing as fuck. 

If this was D.C. or Baltimore, or Philly, or Peoria, or New York, or, hell, _any_ city he had even a passing knowledge of he'd have some inkling of where to go but, no, here he was in Dover, Delaware because three marines—two lance corporals and a private first class—had been murdered and dressed as senior airmen before their bodies had been dumped at the Dover Air Force Base. Tony had no idea what anyone thought they would accomplish by such a pathetic attempt at subterfuge considering that fingerprints could be scanned and processed nearly instantaneously these days. The minute the identification came back the fact they were marines and not air force would be revealed so if the reasoning was to keep NCIS from being involved it was guaranteed to fail miserably. NCIS could, and did, claim jurisdiction over the case the minute the victims were positively identified as marines no matter where the crime scene was, and thus their team went to Dover because Gibbs wanted the case and, in general, whatever Gibbs wanted, Gibbs got.

So, it wasn't a surprise that a few hours later found them at the air force base or that a few hours after that they'd netted themselves a possible suspect and Tony had found himself being prepped and mic'ed up to do a bit of undercover poking about around the Dover Transit Station to find out more about his movements there. Meanwhile, Gibbs had been told by the director to go play nice with his counterpart at AFOIS because they hadn't wanted to turn the case over to NCIS in the first place and were arguing it should be a joint investigation since the bodies had been found on one of their bases. Interagency diplomacy certainly wasn't Gibbs' forte, but he was the Supervisory Special Agent so the job fell to him.

Which would be all well and good, except that meant McGee and Ziva were therefore the ones on the other end of Tony's comm and acting as his backup and it wasn't that he didn't trust them per se, but ever since the Military-at-Home case he kept finding himself wondering if he should, if maybe his trust was misplaced. What they'd said about turning off the feed from his comm so they didn't have to listen to him while he collected voice samples had been a joke, nothing more, right? So there was nothing for him to worry about.

Despite what they'd said they hadn't actually done it. At least, he was pretty sure that was the case, he'd never managed to bring himself to check the tapes because he trusted them and trusted that they wouldn't have actually done that. They were his partners, his teammates. He couldn't let himself believe they would have broken protocol like that. Not then. And they definitely wouldn't do it for a case like this when there was an active threat which meant they were monitoring him now. 

They just hadn't come when he'd called for them. 

Yet, he meant yet. The hadn't come yet. They were probably… stuck in traffic or something.

Tony vaguely considered pulling out his phone to call them to see what was taking so long, but the idea of doing so left a bad taste in his mouth. It'd be all but admitting he didn't think they were capable of doing their jobs and they'd never let him live it down. Of course, if he called and found out they _hadn't_ been doing their jobs that would be almost worse. Whichever the result, it'd get a reaction from them. They'd either be embarrassed or annoyed, neither of which would probably result in them getting to him any faster.

He could call Gibbs, but Gibbs would smack him into next week for bothering him if Ziva and McGee were already on their way; especially if they showed up while he was on the phone with him. Of course, that was assuming Gibbs even answered in the first place. One of his rules might be 'Never Be Unreachable' but while Gibbs seemed to insist the team adhere to it, the man himself didn't always do the same.

From what he could tell from another quick, surreptitious glance over his shoulder, he was pretty sure the guy on the right of tall, dark and dangerous was thinking about escalating things. That guy, who was big and broad with a boxer's build, had been yelling at the other two ever since Tony had slipped away from the transit station before they could jump him or grab him or do whatever their plan to do with him had been. As it stood, it was starting to look like they were about to come to the conclusion that any vague attempt at them being stealthy and sneaky wasn't on the table any more and, if the way the third guy's hand kept slipping to a poorly concealed holster meant anything, something more along the lines of shooting him full of holes was. 

He started to run. 

"Approaching Bank Lane." Seriously, what the fuck was with these street names here? "Where the hell are you guys?"

From the sound of it his pursuers were giving chase. He turned to take a quick look, to see how close behind him they were, when then there was a screeching of brakes and suddenly there was a sedan bearing down on him. He had seconds to think— there was no time to dive out of the way, no chance of moving fast enough so he wouldn't get hit—so he jumped.

He used his momentum to bring himself up onto the hood of the car, twisting his body a little so he landed on his side, rolling onto his back as the car's movement caused him to smash into its windshield before it skidded to a stop and then he was thrown forward, flying through the air for a moment before smacking into the street and rolling over and over as he tried to regain control and get his legs under him or an arm planted so he could get to his feet but before he could the curb came rushing up at him and, unable to avoid it, he smacked his head against it and everything went dark.

* * *

Tony slowly became aware of noises, all sorts of voices and snippets of conversations and plenty of footsteps and tinny announcements melding together into constant droning irritant that was a steady throb against his already hurting head. And it wasn't like he wasn't already uncomfortable; whatever he was lying on was fairly hard and kind of scratchy. He was pretty cold, in that under-the-skin chilled kind of way but it wasn't until he recognized that familiar, biting antiseptic smell all around him that he realized where he was.

A hospital.

Ugh.

Blinking his eyes open he instantly slammed them shut again when the light made him feel like ice picks were being stabbed straight into his brain. A concussion. Great. Lying still, waiting for the pain to recede a little, he wracked his brain trying to remember what he'd been doing and how he could have gotten injured…. Dead marines at the Dover Air Force Base. Camera footage of a suspicious pickup truck. The truck being tracked to unusual activities at the transit station. Trying to gather intel there but getting made and then followed. Backup not coming and then….

He wasn't sure.

Being in a hospital was actually a good sign in a way, it meant he hadn't gotten captured. Getting captured _sucked._ His injuries, what he could tell of them without opening his eyes anyway, didn't seem like the result of a beating either. Definitely some kind of head wound, but there were lots of ways he could have gotten that. His ribs were killing him, at least one was broken if he'd have to guess, and he'd wrenched his back pretty badly and maybe had done something to his hip as well. If he added in how right arm felt scraped to hell and back that meant most likely he'd been hit by a car and then had gotten up close and personal with the pavement afterwards.

That was one way of bringing enough attention to avoid being grabbed when people were chasing you. Not the best way, because, well, it involved being hit by a car, but it did prevent you being spirited off to who knew where when no one was looking.

And speaking of no one looking… Slowly, ever so slowly, Tony opened his eyes again. No Gibbs, no Ziva, no McGee. Just him by his lonesome in a small room in some ER somewhere. 

Right. Okay. First thing's first, he was currently in a hospital gown so he needed to find out what happened to his clothes and where they stored his stuff. Hospitals probably had protocols in place for when law enforcement was brought in, but he had no idea what they were. Had his badge and gun been locked up somewhere or were they stuffed in a bag and stored in the room with him? What about his phone? 

Then it occurred to him that if the hospital ran his ID then Gibbs would know about this whole clusterfuck and how Tony had gotten made before he could gather any intel and then managed to get hit by a car when trying to get away. Great. Gibbs was going to kill him.

Tony pushed himself up, ignoring how much his ribs protested the movement and how dizzy it made him. He managed to get himself into a semi-upright position and was working on coordinating his limbs enough to swing his legs over the edge of the bed to try to stand when a voice scolded him from the doorway, "What the hell do you think you're doing, DiNozzo?"

"Boss!" Startled, he gave up trying to ease himself up slowly and jumped off the bed. And holy shit that was a bad idea because his hip and back screamed at him and it caused his head to swim so badly that he probably would have crumpled into a heap if Gibbs hadn't somehow teleported over and grabbed him.

"If you didn't already have a concussion I'd smack you for that," Gibbs grumbled as he grabbed Tony's arm and slung it over his shoulder, steadying him while taking on most of his weight.

"Sorry, Boss," Tony said automatically, but then winced. He'd just broken rule 6, 'Never Say You're Sorry,' but Gibbs didn't seem to notice. Or, if he did, he didn't comment on it, instead saying, 

"Let's get you back in bed."

"I don't need to, I'm fine." The protest was for naught as Gibbs practically shoved him onto the bed. "If we get a doctor or nurse in here with the paperwork I can sign myself out AMA and we can get back to the case." 

"DiNozzo," Gibbs sighed and scrubbed a hand over his face. "You got hit by a car."

"Yeah, I figured as much. But I don't think it was a big one."

"You don't think. Tony—"

Tony suddenly realized Gibbs was here by himself so he interrupted whatever lecture was about to start to ask, "Where are Ziva and McGee? Did something happened to them? Are they okay?" 

"They're fine. Lie down."

"Gibbs."

"DiNozzo, lie back down _now_." 

Since Gibbs was using that 'this is an order, defy me at your peril' voice of his Tony lay down, instantly feeling a lot less woozy. He must have made some small noise of relief because Gibbs gave him a wry smile.

"I've already gone over this with you a few times."

"You have?"

"I have, and you're always surprised when I tell you that. You were hit by a car," Gibbs explained as he looked at his watch, "just over eight hours ago. Among other injuries you sustained a pretty serious concussion and apparently this kind of reaction—repeating the same questions and not remember the answers—is a fairly standard symptom resulting from that."

"Oh."

"The plan was to keep you here under observation until we were ready to head back and then have the docs give you one last neuro check. Then we'd get you signed out, properly no need for AMA, go back to D.C. and since you shouldn't stay by yourself, I'd bring you home with me."

"With you?" 

"Yeah, I figured we'd do cowboy steaks."

Tony was more than a little confused. "But what about the case?"

"We solved it about an hour ago and just finished rounding up everyone involved. I've already explained all of the details and how we put the pieces together twice, I'm not going through it all again."

"We? So, Ziva and McGee are okay then?" He wasn't sure what to make of that. If they were fine then why hadn't they come when he'd needed them? Had there been a technical problem with the feed from his comm or had they turned it off?

It was only because Tony had known Gibbs for so long and knew all his tells that he saw the momentary look guilt that flittered across Gibbs' face before he could hide it. "They're fine, Tony."

"You've already told me what happened—why they didn't back me up—haven't you?"

"They. Hell, they screwed up, DiNozzo, and they know it, but it's not the way you're thinking."

"How do you know what I'm thinking?" Tony shot back, before realizing he must have blurted out about wondering if they'd turned off his comm feed one of the other times Gibbs told him what happened.

"As soon as they heard you were in trouble they tried to get over to you to back you up, but they'd gotten blocked in by some idiot who'd double parked and couldn't pull out of their parking spot. Ziva headed off on foot immediately while Tim tried to get the car out but it took too long. They should never have let it happen and once it did they should have called me, or hell, you, immediately, but…." Gibbs' voice went hard. "You should have told me about the Military-at-Home case earlier, Tony. They crossed a line with that kind of a joke and I've made sure they know that. You should have never been in the position to question whether or not you'd have backup if you needed it. Not on this team, not at this agency, not ever."

Tony shrugged, but didn't say anything, not trusting that his voice wouldn't betray him and let Gibbs know that he had been wondering if his backup had abandoned him, but either he'd admitted it before or Gibbs knew him too well because Gibbs reached out and lay a hand on Tony's shoulder and said, "I will always have your six, Tony. Always. And I will make sure anyone, _anyone,_ who works for me does the same. I never want you to question that. Got it?"

"Got it, boss."

"Good, then let's see about finding a doctor and getting you out of here."


End file.
